


The Amazing Adventures of Pietro and Wanda (And sometimes Erik)

by orphan_account



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Canon Jewish Character, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Father, F/M, M/M, POC Erik, Road Trips, canon romani character, playing fast and loose with canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5503190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It won’t be that hard to find her, right?” Peter asks, halfway through their flight to New York. </p><p>“I mean, we just have to look for a mutant girl named Wanda. That really narrows it down.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Amazing Adventures of Pietro and Wanda (And sometimes Erik)

Peter doesn’t get into college.

It’s June of 1974, and he opens and reads all four letters on his way back from the mailbox. They all have basically the same format. Dear Mr. Maximoff we regret to inform you, Peter we’re sorry to let you know... Blah, blah, blah. He’s not too torn up about it, because he never really wanted to go to college in the first place. Peter knows he’s a smart kid where it counts, he’s got street smarts not book smarts. Or something like that.

“Mom, I’m going to be a homeless miscreant.” He calls out once he comes back inside, yelling in the general direction of the clanking sounds from the kitchen. That’s the only problem, his mom was totally counting on him to get like, an MBA, whatever that is. “Mom?” He tries again, because his mom isn’t coming out and threatening to ground him like she usually does when she’s disappointed. And she will be so disappointed, Peter can already tell. Like even more disappointed than when Peter got the cops called on him at his twelfth birthday party. And that had been a wild ride.

“Mo-om.” He pokes his head in the door. And stares, because the person sitting at the kitchen table, calmly drinking coffee from a Garfield mug is definitely not his mom.

It’s the metal guy. The same metal guy Peter broke out of prison, and the same guy who killed one president, and dropped a stadium on another. His brain actually stops working for a second. Mutant terrorist. In his house. Garfield mug.

“Uh.” Peter says.

“What’s this about being a homeless miscreant?” Metal guy asks.

“Uh.” Because what else are you supposed to say to a man who could kill you with like, staples or something.

“Peter, sit down. There’s something I want to talk to you about.” Metal guy says, gesturing with his coffee mug. He looks a little less like the crazy person he is when he’s not dressed in prison gear, but Peter’s not taking any chances. He sits.

“Peter, there’s something I should have told you back in the Pentagon.” Metal guy starts, and this is like the climactic scene from an action movie, and Peter knows what’s coming. He’s known since the Pentagon, which has been hell on his nerves honestly. There’s no way that whatever this guy has to tell him is going to be good. Maybe he’s going to kill Peter for figuring it out. Maybe he’s going to ask Peter to be a terrorist with him. Which he wouldn’t. He’s got morals, man. Metal man looks nervous, which is not something Peter thought this guy could ever be capable of feeling. Evil masterminds only feel things like rage and misguided confidence. And they never look slightly sweaty. The man sitting across from him is definitely proving those two assumptions wrong. “I should have told you this a long time ago. I’m...I’m your father.” Peter chokes on air. “I’m sorry, what?” Code red, come again, no hablo espanol. “This isn’t Star Wars, man! You can’t just drop the dad bomb on me! I thought you were gonna tell me about your plot to kill every American president. Jesus.”

Metal guy puts down his mug and stares. “My plot.” He says. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh, and it’s really not a good look on him. Peter tries again. “Your plot... You know.” A second passes between them before Peter realizes what Metal man is actually talking about. “You are so not my dad. Really? For real?”

“ For real.” He flicks his fingers and the coffee mug flies to the sink, filling itself with water before floating to the drying rack. Metal guy may be a megalomaniac, but he is also _really_ lazy.

“What about my mom?” Peter asks, because this is every fantasy he’d ever had when he was mad at his parents. One day his birth parents would show up and claim him and he’d have ice cream for every meal and live in a castle. Peter was about seven the last time he thought about it seriously. He’s adopted, and he’s known since he was two. His parents are ex beatniks who definitely believed in an _honest household_ , though they gave up on that principle when Peter turned thirteen. Metal guy... His dad pauses. “She died, Peter. Six months after giving birth to you and your sister.” Peter chokes on air again. “I have a sister?” Well, he has a sister, her name is Annabelle and she’s four, but a birth sister is something different. Something way different. “Yes, a twin sister.” Metal dude looks like he’s getting tired of repeating himself, so Peter just shuts up and lets him continue.

“I want you to help me find her.”

“...Let me ask my mom.”

It takes Peter’s mom and Metal dude (Whose real name is Erik, with a k) two and a half hours to sort the details of the trip out. Peter snoops somewhat, zipping back and forth between the basement and the kitchen, to make sure he’s getting a good deal out of the whole situation, but in the end his mom agrees. Peter thinks Erik dropping a stadium on the president one time may have something to do with that. The rules of their trip are this; Peter will call on Sunday before five PM every week that they are on the road, Erik will feed him three meals a day and snacks, and there will be no illegal activity. Peter expects Erik to cackle maniacally at this, but he looks serious, and takes his mom’s hand across the table.

“Beth, nothing will happen to your son. You have my word.” Erik is a terrible evil maniac, Peter decides while he’s packing a duffle bag.

Before he can leave, Peter’s mom makes them all eat together, which is a grade a terrible idea in Peter’s opinion. Absolutely terrible. Peter has never eaten mashed potatoes faster in his life.

“So, Erik what do you do?” His dad asks, shaking salt onto his potatoes.

“Well Robert, I run a group in support of mutant rights.” Erik replies. It’s more tactful than Peter expected, considering that Erik’s primary mode of communication seems to be murder or attempted murder. Erik hasn’t touched his pork chop at all, and Peter’s mom has been death glaring him all evening. Peter doesn’t have much sympathy. Erik probably gets death glares all the time. It probably comes with the criminal mastermind gig.

Annabelle is fascinated by the new presence at the dinner table, and insists on making Erik do coin trick after coin trick, which weirdly he doesn’t seem to mind doing. In fact, he distracts her so well that she falls asleep in her booster seat, and as they stand to go the car, Erik ruffles her hair. Peter doesn’t understand how this is his life now.

When it’s time to leave, his mom smothers him with kisses all the way to Erik’s car, and makes him promise to call. Erik loads up Peter’s duffle bag into the trunk for him, then turns to his mom. “

Beth, thank you.” He holds out his hand again. His mom takes it, giving him a watery smile.

“I’m glad you decided to be a part of his life, Erik. But if you try and fu- I mean screw my boy up and make him into some sort of _criminal_ , I will find you and kill you.” Erik nods, taking the death threat in stride before letting go of her hand and opening the car door. Peter kisses his mom one last time on the cheek before hopping into the passenger seat. He has to move some files out of the way to sit down, and as Erik pulls away from the curb, Peter looks through them. In the manilla folder and three thick sheets of paper. _Pietro Eisenhardt, born May the tenth 1956 at 3:30 AM_. It’s a birth certificate.

“Whose is this?” He asks, waving the sheet of paper in Erik’s face. “Who’s Pietro, man? Are we gonna find him and beat him up?” Erik looks disgruntled, though that might just be his resting face. Peter isn’t entirely sure.

“That’s your birth certificate, and the other is your sister’s.” Erik replies, before taking them onto the freeway and driving slightly slower than Peter would like. He’s actually going the speed limit, and it’s ridiculous. “And Peter, buckle your seatbelt.” “My name’s not Pietro though.” He replies, looking at the sheet of paper. The sheet of paper, frustratingly does not do anything in return.

“I assume the foster agency you were with had it legally changed, in order to make you sound more...American.”

“Oh.” Peter replies, looking at the name in cursive. It doesn’t look like him, he’s not a Pietro. He’s Peter. “Why’d you choose the name Pietro?” He asks, staring out the window. They’re going into DC proper, and Peter is a little concerned that they’re going to go break into another government facility. “I didn’t,” Erik replies, taking the exit towards the airport. “Your mother did.” His eyes are on the road, glancing up at the signs. He really looks like an old person when he drives. Definitely the worst evil mastermind. “So, you and my birth mother weren’t together when I was born?” Erik just nods, eyebrows knitted together, and Peter leaves it at that.

 _Wanda Eisenhardt, born May the tenth 1956 at 3:25 AM_. So his sister is older, which Peter is disappointed by. He studies her birth certificate, the same scrawling script on hers as on his own, and he makes a silent vow to his unknown sister that they are going to find her. Maybe they won’t be some big sitcom family, but they’ll at least be aware of each other’s existence. The next paper is a cause of death form.

“This is my birth mother’s.” He says, holding up the sheet. He didn’t know her, didn’t have a chance to, but it’s like a punch in the gut anyways. _Magda Eisenhardt, age 31, time of death 11:27 PM November 17 1956. Cause of death; Respiratory failure_. “She was really young.” Erik looks like he’s in pain, and he glances over at Peter. His eyebrows do that crinkly things again, which may be Erik’s signal for ‘help I am feeling emotions other than the urge to kill everybody’. “She was.”

The next things in the folder are a passport and driver’s license. With Peter’s face. “Where did you get my picture?” Peter asks, glancing at the passport. It’s one of Peter’s school photos from several years back. “Are you stalking me, man?”

Erik rolls his eyes as they pull into the rental car center. “I went to your school, told them I was police. I told them you were missing.”

Peter opens his mouth. “I take back anything I’ve ever said about you being a terrible evil mastermind."

“What.” Erik says.

They end up being about two hours early for their flight due to Erik's dadlike sense of timing, and Erik kills some time with Peter by doing a crossword and making snarky comments about the other travelers. Peter is delighted. Erik is really genuinely such a jerk, and it’s wonderful. “

Yes, I’ve heard floral is very in this year but that’s no excuse,” Erik mutters looking over his sunglasses. “Peter, what’s a four letter word for goldfish?” The answer is beta.

“It won’t be that hard to find her, right?” Peter asks, halfway through their flight to New York. Erik has been, for the duration of the flight, feigning sleep with a lavender eye mask over his face. Now he turns to look at Peter, lifting the little pillow of his eyes. “I mean, we just have to look for a mutant girl named Wanda. That really narrows it down.” Erik nods, puts the bag over his eyes. “We’ll find her Peter, don’t worry.” Peter puts his headphones in, feeling confident about the whole trip. “Yeah, it’ll be a piece of cake.”

They last a week on their own before they end up at the gates of that Xavier guy’s house.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not need a multichapter fic in my life right now... But here we are!


End file.
